Remember who the fuck you are.

You stumbled upon a Facebook ad (does anyone really stumble upon anymore?) for a bracelet with this message and forwarded it to me.

Poignant. Because we both struggle with this. Between life and overthinking and each of us getting in our own way—and each other’s way.

Yet we have that look between us. We want this to work. Finally.

And this is what it requires. Remembering who the fuck I am. And she needs to remember who the fuck she is. And not egotistically.

Why are we constantly at war with our minds? My lord, our minds can construct elaborate scenarios. And make us truly hate each other. For a second, anyway.

You know, Mona had a dream once where I hit the dog with a car. She was mad at me all day—and I never hit the dog. We don’t even have a dog.

Why do we invent our personal saboteurs? When we’re so desperate for connection?

I am grateful for our connection, for it is incredible. The way we can look into each other’s eyes, hardly saying a word. And we feel each other. Intentionally.

Remember. Who the fuck. I am.

This is why she’s here. Because I choose her. Because I am intentional with her. In our presence with each other. In love. In sex.

This is why I am an experience to her. One she can’t get enough of.

Yet, occasionally, I stop to think about this. Am I delusional? Then the disconnect. Another thought, “Maybe,” confirms the delusion. Life keeps us apart for an extra day. She’s mad at me. For no reason. I’m mad at her. For no reason. She’s not thinking of me at all.

Me? Well, I think of her a lot.

We reunite. The look confirms the experience. If it didn’t, the touch definitely confirms it.

We’re just two crazy kids in love. When we remember who the fuck we are. When we are who we are.

Then there’s society. Society doesn’t want us to be who we are. We’re supposed to perform. We’re supposed to care about things that don’t really matter. Because other people decided it matters. Why are we taught to deny ourselves?

Trust me, that tree outside the window doesn’t give a fuck.

I don’t know if the tree remembers who the fuck it is… yet it doesn’t have to. It doesn’t “know” anything else. And animals. Why are we plagued by our own minds? With the intelligence to actively talk ourselves out of being who we are? Out of remembering who the fuck we are?

Because we aren’t who we WANT to be? Foolish.

Perhaps this is why only fools are able to learn. And the intelligent struggle where they shouldn’t. Life is hard enough, why do we have to make this shit up?

Remember who the fuck you are. And be aware of just how beautiful life is when you do. You rediscovered the woman I fell for.

And I’m rediscovering the man who keeps you safe and seen. The shore for your sea to wash upon. The calm for your storm.

Remember.